There is a tree whose image has gone viral on social media in and around Guwahati over the last two days. It’s the massive tree adjacent to Digholipukhuri. The buzz is about the planned felling of this century-old tree, which has witnessed Guwahati's transformation from a sleepy little town into a bustling—now congested—metropolitan city.
But this write-up isn't about the stellar planning skills of the concerned authorities, who have so thoughtfully overlooked the ecological, historical, and emotional impact that felling trees like this would have on future generations. It also isn’t about how the state’s green cover is being mercilessly chopped down to make way for ever-growing urbanization. And I surely don’t want to repeat what thousands have already echoed about the urgent need for conservation and the woes of Guwahati's residents, who have been battling climate change, artificial floods, and dust storms in recent years.
No, this is about something much more personal—this is about a tree that feels like an old friend. Every time I see someone post a picture of it, it feels like spotting a familiar face on national TV back in the 2000s.
I've been back in Guwahati for nearly a year and a half, and during that time, I’ve regularly driven to Digholipukhuri for a project I’ve been involved with. This particular tree marks the spot where I park my car—not directly under it, but close enough to benefit from its shade. The reason? The simplest and earliest discovery of humankind: shade.
Having lived in Delhi for most of my life, I'm no stranger to heat. But Guwahati's recent summers have felt like they belong in a different league entirely. Parking my car in this heat for a whole day? That's a free sauna experience I don’t need, thank you very much.
Now, back to the tree. It stands on the northeastern side of the giant pond, and from its location to the northeastern corner of the rectangular pond, there’s an empty, treeless stretch. There were trees there once, but nature and circumstances have seen to their demise.
For those who know me, they know I love keeping my car spotless. Unfortunately, I’ve got a long-standing agreement with the birds around Digholipukhuri: if my car is parked under any of the trees in the area and I don’t move it before the birds come home, they’ll redecorate it for me—whether I like it or not.
But this tree is different. It’s enormous, with branches that stretch far and wide. After some trial and error, I discovered a genius solution: the tree’s massive canopy provides enough shade that I can park nearby, but not directly under it, thus avoiding the birds’ “artwork” on my car. A Shimla Agreement of sorts was formed: I get the shade, and the birds get to poop wherever, just not on my car.
And that’s why this tree feels so personal to me. The fact that it’s even being considered for felling fills me with anguish. I’ve only been attached to this tree for a year, but imagine how those who’ve known it for decades must feel.
But what about the planners behind this proposed plan? Did they feel nothing? Did they not realize that the birds who perch here—and yes, sometimes poop here—do so because it’s their home? Did they not hear the evening bird calls, which, I’m told, sound a lot better than car horns?
I pay Rs 1,000 every year for a pollution certificate for my car, which certifies that my car is polluting the environment in an "acceptable" way. How much would I have to pay to save this tree?
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